


Tactus

by Xhidaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blind Character, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mental Anguish, World of Ruin (Final Fantasy), World of Ruin Big Bang (Final Fantasy XV), non visual depiction of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:27:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29726910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xhidaka/pseuds/Xhidaka
Summary: His head tipped down as one large booted foot shifted and bumped against his own. He heard the muttered apology, but as the foot didn't move away Ignis remained, his face tilted in the approximate location the boot would be, trying to visualize the smooth black leather with silver buckles, how it may or may not be obscured by scuffs or mud… or blood…
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 32
Kudos: 22
Collections: World of Ruin Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

_ I’ve failed you... _

"Is Cor still there?" 

Between the slight turbulence and whooshing of air outside the craft Gladio's voice was still clear, slightly raised, and anxious. As the Shield shifted forward in his seat, the sound of leather gloves gripping his phone accompanied the accelerated beat of his heart.

"Okay, well, call him! We need you out of Caem  _ now! The _ sky's getting dark and it ain't safe anymore…" Ignis could hear the rage bubbling under the firm, gruff tone, using a mask of anger to cover the shake of his voice. It was something Gladio always did in lieu of tears. Always, though it was clearer now, like ice cracking under a sudden wave of heat. 

Even before he'd lost his eyes Ignis knew that tone.

His head tipped down as one large booted foot shifted and bumped against his own. He heard the muttered apology, but as the foot didn't move away Ignis remained, his face tilted in the approximate location the boot would be, trying to visualize the smooth black leather with silver buckles, how it may or may not be obscured by scuffs or mud…  _ or blood… _

All he could capture in his mind's eye was vague, fuzzy. It wasn’t the sort of detail he’d ever tried to focus on before. Things like shoes and fabrics just… were. Faces, expressions, eventually even those things crisp and clear to him now would one day blur and fray around the edges. Of 

that he had no doubt.

There was a loud, unsettled grunt and a clatter as Gladio's phone was dropped roughly, probably on the hard bench beside him. By instinct Ignis looked up.

"She gonna be okay?" Prompto spoke up for the first time since their departure from Gralea. Unlike Gladio, the hard shake to Prompto's voice was obvious, though he tried to play off the sniffle that followed as a side effect of the altitude. Ignis didn't pay too close attention to the actual words, but the forced chuckle was hard to miss. 

"Cor won't let us down. He can't." The shift of fabric as Gladio moved his arms… not his typical leather, something lighter and with sleeves. Maybe a windbreaker of some kind. "Where's Aranea taking us?"

"Hammerhead... I-I think. I know Dave's started moving people to Lestallum but…" Prompto's voice caught, but his meaning was obvious.

"Yeah. I gotcha. Just hope Iris and Talcott get to Lestallum alright.”

“Cor’s good for it. He won’t let us down.” 

Ignis’ ears followed the clicking of boots, trying to decide if someone was approaching or receding. It was a little difficult to tell when even the smallest sounds reverberated through the narrow, metallic space. After a moment he concluded the footsteps, someone light with a heavy step, were in fact moving away.

…...

Hammerhead still tasted like dust and heat, even in the darkness.

The background was a whirring of engines and gusts of manmade wind that only served to pile up more dust and sand and thicken the air. It was hard for Ignis to breathe but he didn’t bother to complain, not even certain through all the noise if anyone else was present. 

He actually didn't mind the warmth. It was a change from the bite of Gralea and the chilled winds above Eos. After all, if the world were as dark as the others claimed, all of these things would surely fade away in the coming days… weeks… months.

Everything that was light and warmth. Everything. 

Ignis bit his lip, his fingers slowly clenching into fists, tightening, releasing. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, head directed towards the dim lights he could still make out through his ruined cornea. His visor was in his pocket so that it didn’t get scratched up while the engines whipped up sand and rocks. His eye… well that didn’t really matter, now did it? 

This was humanity from now forward; dim, white lights radiating from equidistant points that Ignis could only assume were spotlights or streetlamps meant to keep the daemons at bay. 

The engine behind him eased to a purr before finally slowing to a stop. The dust took a bit longer to settle, and there were still the subtlest sounds as energy crackled about the Niflheim airship. 

"Iggy?" 

Ignis jumped a bit with Gladio's voice and the large but gentle fingers barely pressing into the small of his back. He had been so caught up he hadn't heard the man coming. Gladio was over two hundred solid pounds, there was no way he should have been able to sneak up on the advisor. Blind or not.

"You alright?" The touch of concern had a flat edge. Ignis pondered it for only a fraction of a second.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Just a little lost in my thoughts." It wasn't a lie, though Ignis could feel his jaw tensing beneath the words. "Is there something I can do for you?"

The catch in Gladio's throat was audible. "No… I uh, just brought your cane. Thought you might want it."

What was now a familiar cylindrical object pressed into Ignis' hand, and just as quickly, Gladio's touch retreated. Ignis muttered his thanks beneath his breath. "Are you heading to Lestallum? To catch up with Iris?"

"Not yet." Gladio hadn't moved, though the shift of various fabrics made it clear he would have gone right at that moment had he the choice. "Trying to convince Cid to come along. Cindy's gonna stay here… and Prompto, well, suppose you know where he's gonna be." 

Apparently Ignis had stood there longer than he realized. It was an awful lot of conversation to have passed him by.

"You should come to Lestallum, too. It's safer there."

"Safer?" Ignis turned his body towards the larger man, his muscles seizing up despite himself. "What makes you think I need, or want, safer? Because I'm blind?"

"Ignis I-"

"Gladiolus, if you want to run off to Lestallum, do your duty to your family… by all means. I'm not going. There's nothing for me there." In all honesty there was nothing for him here, either. Or anywhere…

Without Noctis, he really didn't serve any sort of purpose. Not to the prophecy and not to Eos. 

But when Gladio didn't speak, Ignis resigned to filling the gap between them. "I'm going to stay here for a while. Try to… reclaim myself from the darkness."

Without the overwhelming roar of the engines, the buzz of the overhead lights was a meager distraction from the silence steadily settling around them. He could still feel the vibrations in his fingertips.

As far as Ignis knew Gladio hadn’t moved, but it was unlike the Shield to stay stationary for extended periods of time. “Ignis… I can’t make ya do anything you don’t want but… just think about it, kay? We’re probably not heading out till the morning… err, you know… ten to twelve hours from now, if the clocks are right. I’d rather you be there.”

A part of Ignis wanted desperately to fold, but he instead choked back that sliver of himself in the guise of clearing his throat. “Prompto has proven he can watch over me fine. I’m not a baby chocobo, I can fend for myself.”

The humph was unexpected, mostly because of the hint of a smile that Ignis could hear within it. “If ya were he’d never take his eyes off you. But, Iggy, I’m not saying it ‘cause of that. It’s just-I-” Cut with a sigh, Gladio reached out and this time found Ignis’s shoulder with his hand. 

Ignis flinched beneath the touch, the muscles in his jaw aching. “Gladio. You have Iris to attend to. I can’t go further until I’m properly able to defend myself. It’s that simple.” 

Until he’d earned it, more like.

“I guess there’s no changing your mind once it’s made up, huh?” Gladio’s hand slipped away, listlessly. “Most stubborn of all of us. Thought that was s’posed to be me.”

….

Pretty much anything was better than canned beans. Maybe Noct had it right on that account. It was the only reason Ignis followed when Cindy had suggested the three of them get something to eat at the nearby diner.

Takka still had the fryers going when they arrived in the Pit Stop beside Hammerhead. It smelled of grease and flour, faded cleaners and ancient vinyl, mixed with a sort of nostalgia that was utterly unique and impossible to quantify. And, yes, Ignis most definitely considered nostalgia its own smell. It took him back to simpler times. Prompto always loved diner food, and with diner food came that specific, hard to describe smell. Noctis loved anything that made Prompto happy, with the obvious exclusion of green things.

Always that little delay, side trip or hunt… all to stave off Noct's wedding for a day or two longer...

Ignis would have given anything to have seen Noctis to his arranged wedding. Noctis deserved so much more. He deserved that possibility of a future. A normal life where he could grow old...

"Hey, you alright?" The twitchy, bald headed man who had greeted them instantly and with surprising warmth shifted his tone to concern. 

Ignis lifted his head in surprise and gasped as a tear shattered against his exposed forearm. "Oh. Apologies. It's been a stressful day. I didn't even realize." 

He didn't wait for Gladio or Prompto to speak, or move close enough to touch him, instead he stepped towards the counter, cane first. As it bumped the siding he groped for a stool and took his seat.

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Takka's voice edged on the guttural before letting out a long sigh beneath the chorus of approaching feet. "Well, who knows how long I'll keep this place open if no ones movin' about but the hunters so… order while you can and don't worry 'bout payin'. We all gotta do our part."

The stool to Ignis' left creaked with the weight of a body. "It's… it's not gonna be the same." Prompto, his voice low but steady. "Every stupid thing reminds be of Noct. We made all these memories and now they're just…you guys remember hanging out on these stools, pickin' up hunts from old Takka-"

"Hey, I ain't that old!"

"-playing Justice Monsters Five for hours… greasy food… Ignis you always gave us so much crap for liking it so much…" the blond's voice cracked and choked, a pause stretching out between them as Prompto gathered himself. "It's never gonna be the same without him…"

"Hey." The frustrated grunt shifted into a word, and Ignis wasn't surprised to hear Gladio on his right, though the man hadn't sat down. But if anyone was going to be a sentinel, it made sense it would be Gladio. "Noct is coming back. Have some faith in your King!"

The sniffles from the aircraft had returned, though this time Prompto didn't bother making excuses. "Dude, he's more than the King to me. He's my friend. My best friend. I don't even know what to do without him."

Ignis' lips parted for a moment, the weight of his chest almost unbearable.

"Prompto." Surprisingly Gladio had edged away from anger, the tenor of his voice lower, softer, less commanding. "I understand what you feel. We all feel that… but starvin' yourself isn't gonna help anybody."

Ignis wasn't sure he could hear the nod or feel the slight movement through the vibrations in the table, but he swore it was there. "You're right. If Noct were here, he'd tell me I was being stupid and to eat something… guess I gotta keep myself going, even if that means reminding myself every five minutes. Wouldn't wanna disappoint."

But was that true? Ignis didn't shift his head, wondering if there was even a reason to bother. He'd done his part and failed to save his King, just as the prophecy foretold. If he were to disappear from the story, the Gods wouldn't even notice.

_ Would they? _ If the frames behind his eyelids hadn’t told him over and over that Noctis would return one day, well… then it would be a different story altogether. 

They told him that he would be there, the day the Dawn returned. 

The day the stars went away forever. 

A sound choked to silence in his throat and Ignis tipped his head towards the bar, his hands folding atop themselves, dull and rough as the fabric of his gloves brushed together. Ending the story now was not an option. The Astrals had already seen to that.

….

Ignis ran a hand along the cold doorframe of the old RV, feeling it for the first time. Through the gloves in passing he had never recognized the indents and planes of the old, chipped metal. It was all angles and edges, now, smooth but for the little leaps made by his fingertips transitioning between metal and paint. 

Inside the space was still as stagnant and stuffy as it had ever been, though from the lack of sound within Ignis had to guess the fan that used to be propped in the window had either died or been disposed of, since the lights above Hammerhead were a much more imperative use of power than a dinky little fan that hardly worked in the first place. Ignis sighed and inhaled a large breath of air, glad that it wasn’t humid or cloyed with the stench of human sweat. Old linens and dust he could handle. 

He didn’t know who would be joining him in the little, run down RV, but he knew he was first inside and first to turn in. Ignis had been surprised when the other two had left him be. Even after the incident with the malboro and Zegnatus he’d barely had a moment when someone wasn’t needlessly worried and inches behind his tail. If he were honest with himself, some of the touches would have been welcome in another life… but here, paired with pity and sorrow, there was nothing he wished for less. The cool feeling of his sticky skin in the air as he pulled off his sweat stained shirt, the sound of distant insects and incomprehensible conversation outside…they were the only things that gave him a sense of relief in a world of endless darkness. 

It wasn’t hard to know where the beds were, or the small, shuttered windows he remembered from past experience. His shins barely bumped the bed as he kneeled onto it, his hands slid seamlessly up the textured wallpaper until he reached the metal framing to the window. Along the sides there should be… yes. A small, rounded metal knob that shifted the shutters. Ignis moved it upwards until he could feel a touch of air on his cheeks.    
  
Even if the noise from outside the RV heightened, the rush of stale air mingling with a fresher sort was as close to pleasure as he’d felt in quite some time.    
  
In the space behind him, to the left, the door to the RV clicked. It was surprisingly quiet as it opened, but as the metal latch depressed into place upon closing there wasn’t much that could be done to stifle it. But perhaps the person who had entered was not opting for stealth. Ignis frowned. Clumsy, irregular footsteps approached and he was no longer alone on the bed. The weight of a human body bounced the stiff mattress below him, a gentle exhale disturbing more of the air at his side. Ignis paused, his head shifting.   
  
“Are you… is that alcohol on your breath?” The advisor flinched, fingers digging between the metal slats for grip. 

A heavy arm flopped over Ignis’ calf, breath tickled against his knee. “Just a little… mostly… mostly tired. Cid came over with this whiskey… like… part of a bottle. Half maybe?”   
  
Ignis grunted at the Shield’s words, though he couldn’t fault him for the indulgence. The only reason he would have declined, himself, was out of the deep rooted darkness and fear that was sure to follow.    
  
“I only had two. I promise.” Gladio’s weight shifted as his arm linked around the crook of Ignis’ knee, his forehead pressing firmly against the side, the fleshy part right above the tendons.    
  
It wasn’t the first time Ignis had experienced this side of his friend. Normally it took more drinks, but it had been quite the long and taxing day. If Ignis wasn’t mistaken it had been nearly twenty four hours since their last attempt at rest. “Gladio... you should be with the others.”   
  
“Says who.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t slurred or hesitant. 

Ignis sighed. “I’m fine.”

“I know… but if you don’t come with us ta Lestallum tomorrow… who knows how long it will be.” The overtone of bleary sleepiness dulled the words just enough. They came clear but slow, each picked out of the air with careful precision but lacking the guile of cleverness or deception. “You and me, we’ve been together forever. Don’t wanna think about what it will be like if you’re gone. There’s already a hole, I just…”

"You think too much…" the words that Ignis squeezed free were more strained than he'd intended; he hoped Gladio didn't notice. "We both have things we need to do. Don't make this harder on yourself than it has to be. Iris needs you. Far more than I. Besides, this? It's temporary. By the time we reunite my eyes will be back, I’ll be as I once was..."

Ignis felt a shudder from the big man, though he could not tell if it were tears or something else. Any noise was muffled by the blankets and sheets beneath. Ignis was lying. He had been every time he’d uttered the words, but there was no way Gladio could have known. Could he?

  
“Gladio, go to sleep. There are three free bunks. You can have any you wish.”   
  
“If you’re not leaving with us…” For some reason Gladio’s words caught Ignis off guard once again and a gasp escaped his parted lips. The Shield’s voice sounded surprisingly clear and unmuddied by the alcohol in his system. “Then I’m just gonna stay here. You say next time like it’s obvious. But we don't know if there will be a next time. The sun is gone. Who knows how long it will be before  _ everything  _ is gone.”   
  
“Gladio…”

“Just let me have this. I won’t ask for anything else.”

…

A gasp was the only sound at first as Ignis’ eye snapped open to the darkness. For a long moment there was nothing. Panic rose in his chest… then slowly it receded. In the background Ignis started to pick out the sounds of voices in the distance and the dwindling stridulation of insects in the outlying brush. It was cold in the RV. His sheets had been tossed aside and the bed beside him was empty. His hand brushed the space where Gladio had been to find no warmth there. He’d been gone for some time.

Cold. Fear. Loneliness. That was it. This was what felt appropriate. Ignis’ lips narrowed and he shifted to lift himself from the bed. 

Ignis’ hand found the edge of the bed and slowly he guided himself through stripping, dressing, trying to keep the image he once had despite the loss of his sight. He tucked his shirt, straightened his lapels, rolled his sleeves, put fingers through his hair just as he remembered. But without being able to see the fruits of his labor, he wasn’t entirely sure why he continued to try, at all. Small, loose locks of hair told him his technique with the gel wasn’t quite right. His buttons were likely slightly askew… a sigh pushed through his lips and he groped for his cane, the one that Gladio had pressed into his hand the day before. 

The Amicitia ghost, there one moment then absent the next. The cane was exactly where he’d left it. 

Ignis turned his head to the window, his senses flagged by the bright, unyielding lights at the peripheral of what he now called vision. The blurred, bright orbs and bars playing through the slats of the window gave no relief, no comfort, no aid to his daily activities. If it weren't the only thing keeping all the people of Hammerhead safe, he’d wish it would go out, completely.

How dare it pretend to be the light of the sun when the sun had already faded away.

Ignis listened to his own footsteps as he left the safety of the RV, his gloved fingertips following each curve and contour of the stuffy metal box that surrounded him. He counted each individual step, just as he had done the night before. He reached the short metal stairs, there were two, and descended without incident as his cane bounced against the cement below. The voices were still distant, none of them near enough to make out words or tones. 

He turned his head slightly, honing in on a group speaking some distance away. They were hunters. They seemed to be glad for the reprieve Hammerhead still allowed despite the darkness. He turned his head again. The other group consisted of voices he recognized. Prompto, speaking with Cid. They were discussing the trip to Lestallum. A frown creased his lips, yet he understood. It had been his own decision to stay behind. 

It seemed Gladio had been successful in his negotiations the night before, at least where Cid was concerned. 

Moving towards the voices, Ignis noted a female voice joining the others. The tone was lower than Cindy’s, less twang to the words. Was it Aranea? He felt a bit of guilt in not being able to pick her voice out right away, even though as he approached it became far more clear and obvious. 

“I ain’t leaving until I know for sure you got all my tools catalogued and e’ry car in this lot has gotta be out or scrapped for parts.” That was old Cid, tension rising in his voice with every word. Ignis couldn’t yet hear him move, but knew the man couldn’t be comfortable with his tone as it was. 

“We’re using the bodies on the perimeter. It's better than nothing.” Aranea continued, despite Prompto’s nervous resistance. 

“They’re  _ frames. _ ” Cid corrected. “They ain’t bodies when you strip ‘em down that far.”

“Yeah, sure, old man. Whatever you say. You’re the pro.” Ignis could hear Aranea exhale, though he could determine little else and felt all the more useless for it. 

“Cindy’s the pro, now. If I’m retirin’, that’s where my legacy lies.” 

Ignis turned away, using the direction of the lights and the sounds of their voices to orient himself, back towards the garage. From the garage he could easily find the diner, the shop, the van that once sold weapons to hunters… it probably still did. That or they moved the blond man that ran it inside the shop to keep him safe in the darkness. Ignis wouldn’t be surprised either way. 

“Hey Ignis!” He flinched with the words, practically desperate in Prompto’s shaky tenor, though he didn’t stop in his trajectory. He could hear the footsteps approaching and slowed, his shoulders falling and his breath tumbling from his lips. “Ignis. Gladio said you-you’re staying in Hammerhead with us. That… can’t be right, can it?”   
  
There was a pause as Ignis surveyed his auditory surroundings but found no one else he recognized within the confines of the area. He could hear the bubbling and hissing of daemon’s in the distance, a roar that sounded so distant it was soft and difficult to pinpoint. “He’s quite correct. I’ve decided to stay a while. I can only assume Lestallum has pulled inwards. Though it may seem contrary and that being without vision I would benefit from close quarters but my mind has other opinions on the matter. I could only imagine how claustrophobic that would feel, considering it was a bit suffocating before the darkness fell.“

A different lie. But he couldn’t very well admit that he didn’t have the energy to go on. 

“Lucky for you, I’ll be nearby too.” Ignis’ lips parted when he heard Aranea speak. Her steps had blended in with the rest of the noise around him and he cursed himself once more. He had to learn to focus as he used to. Total clarity. What had become of that? “Actually, the Big Guy made me promise to stick around and keep you safe. Okay, he said to ‘train you’, but nobody can hide concern laid on that thick.”   
  


“Did he now?” And yet Ignis couldn’t pick up Gladio’s voice anywhere in the rest stop. He supposed it could simply be that the Shield was staying quiet or was inside one of the structures scattered about the property. “I did mention something of the sort to him, but I didn’t think you would be one to follow the orders of Lucian military personnel.”

Now he could hear the click of Aranea’s heel as she shifted her hips. "Making sure you can take care of yourself seems like a pretty important task to me. Besides, not only are you going to have trouble finding another polearm expert, but my guys have been on duty helping with the evacuation, taking a couple weeks here to train you is something I can spare. I'll leave the actual daycare to blondie, don't you worry your pretty head about it. "

"Yeah, dude. I'll be right here. But not like a babysitter. I would never." A shock of electricity pricked at Ignis a moment before Prompto's hand came down on his shoulder and Ignis stepped back to evade. 

"Please, don't touch me."

He could hear the panic in Prompto’s breath as his hand was withdrawn. "I-I didn't mean anything by it."

The guilt was there, clawing at his guts, but Ignis knew this course was the only one. The moment he'd woken, cold and alone, he knew he'd figured out the punishment he deserved for his failure. "Apologies, Prompto. It is nothing personal. Just… please, don't."


	2. Chapter 2

Gladio, Cid and a handful of others left in a caravan later that day, barely a word spoken as the group departed. Any wishes of luck or wellbeing were stifled as taboo, and the rest of the words… simply would not come. 

Before, Hammerhead had been quiet. Now there was nothing but the music of daemons in the distance harmonizing with the last of the confused insects that had as much difficulty telling night from day as the rest of them. Ignis felt… room to breathe. Room to focus on the weights atop his shoulders, through his stomach and inside his skull. 

And yet, there was a sense of relief in knowing he was alone instead of simply feeling that he was. 

Ignis and Prompto were moved from the RV to the bunks in the garage that same day, and as neither had much in the way of belongings, they were given a half locker each as well as a basic combination lock. At first Ignis didn't use the lock. First order of business was memorizing the number of steps from his bottom bunk to his locker and from his locker to the door. Simple, efficient, and though he picked it up easily and without the aid of anyone else, a basic task that was nowhere enough. 

While the remaining hunters started dismantling the structures around Hammerhead Ignis did his best to ignore the noise, focusing instead on the lock, his second simple task. It was difficult to connect the feel of the indented numbers to the ones in his mind's eye. 

He stayed still even as the sounds of battle erupted outside. The loud crashing footsteps of a giant type demon were close, padding in angry circles as shouts and the sharp cry and clank of metal on metal closed in around it. It must have spawned close to the edge of the lights as it didn't seem to be attempting to move closer. The hunters, it seemed, had the beast pinned. The creature roared and slammed its blade into the earth, scattering hunters and… it sounded like metal, hollow metal, reminiscent of the posts used in constructing chain link fences, only en masse. It had to have been the supplies the men had been collecting or the barricade they had been building. 

Ignis almost moved. His hand tightened around the lock until it left a painful impression on his palm. 

The loud, undulating hum of the gravity well that followed was undeniable. He could still vividly remember the way it felt, the strike of fear the first time it had happened… and the wounds and potions that had followed. 

He heard a man scream. Not the shouts he'd heard previously, it was a twisted, high pitched sound that groped his chest tightly and pulled until he was drawn to his feet and his dagger materialized in his left hand. 

Ignis almost didn't realize he was moving until the lights changed, brightened, and the sounds he'd already heard so clearly exploded in his ears. So did the smells. Oil and dust was only the backdrop. The smell of daemons was something stronger, like the cloying scent of strong vinegar mixed with burnt flesh, the tang of wet rust and the musk of stale earth. Each type was a bit different. The giants were normally more on the metallic side… but not like this. 

The smell of copper flooded Ignis' nostrils. 

The low, reverberating moan of the beast almost sounded like the winding of a clock in slow motion. Ignis widened his stance and managed to brace himself just in time to stay standing as the giant fell, sending tremors through the entire outpost before bubbling away in a putrid pool of miasma. 

"Get him some medical attention!" It was Aranea's voice, though Ignis couldn't hear a single soul move. Not even himself. He'd been… useless. 

"Aranea, stop. He's gone. Can't you see what happened?" Prompto as well. In the aftershocks of battle he wasn't shaky, but the heaviness in his voice was a red flag to Ignis. Then again, Ignis could smell it. He could feel the way the air stood motionless with a dozen captured breaths. "He's gone. Even if we get him back together in time… no phoenix down can bring a guy back from the dead."

Ignis tipped his head towards the dagger in hand and reluctantly dismissed it. He could feel the energy pulse through him… Noct's energy, which was still entrusted to the three that remained. Noctis was alive, somewhere far from the world they walked. 

Even now the King was giving bits of his life to allow them to live. Ignis didn't deserve such a gift, and yet… he would bear witness to the death of the world, waiting for Noctis to return. 

….

The hunters did their best to wash the smell of blood from the concrete, but it remained for days afterwards as a lingering stench and a bitter taste in the back of the mouth. Barricades were rebuilt. Lights repositioned and bolstered. 

A week after the incident a caravan returned to Hammerhead from Lestallum with more, brighter lights. As many as they could spare. It didn't escape Ignis' notice when Prompto idly commented that they could no longer see the stars, anyway. He would know, after all. More and more frequently Prompto spent his nights on the rooftop, yearning for something in the distant past. His memories were all that held the young man together. 

Sometimes Ignis let him talk, and it was always the same. He would gaze up at the sky, pause a moment, then share whatever memory happened to surface at the time. Ignis would stare up at the black nothingness that always surrounded him, and if the hour were right he would stare at the faded, milky shape of the moon, wondering if it were a figment grasped by his mind in a desperate attempt at sanity… or if it were real. 

He didn't tell Prompto about the moon those nights. Either it would give the man false hope of Ignis' sight returning or he would find deep unrest. Imaginary or not, it was his secret and his anchor. 

Ignis started training with Aranea to pass the endless hours between counting steps and blueprinting various items with his hands. The interesting thing was, despite constantly tasting dirt and his own blood, Aranea's no nonsense, no holds barred method of training saw Ignis quickly and sharply finding a strong sense of balance. More surprisingly, after only a month under her tutelage, Ignis no longer had need of his cane. There was no doubt in Ignis' mind that the two were somehow related. He did not dispose of the instrument, but it was thereafter tucked away safely, just in case. 

Ignis noticed a change in the way the hunters regarded him after that point. Even Takka finally obliged his request to rekindle his culinary basics. The pity in their voices softened as though this tiny  _ thing _ was worth a shred of hope. Hope for what? Survival? The future? Ignis didn't understand, instead playing along despite the visions of the Astrals repeating nonstop behind his eyelids. 

He still had a long way to go before he was as skilled with a polearm or a knife as he once was. Even farther before he'd ever make up for his past failures. Losing his sight, his ability to cook, fight, drive or be useful in any facet was still not punishment enough for failing his King. 

The bruises from polearm training were not enough. The scars on his fingers from Takka's knives were not enough. There had to be something more. He could feel Noctis's magic across his skin as he called on it, faintly see it's shimmering blue light like starlight catching on shattered glass in the darkness. 

It was in one of those moments he suddenly knew what he needed to do to repent. It was actually quite obvious. 

….

Lifting himself from his cot, Ignis quickly moved the twenty three steps to the door in double strides, careful not to wake Cindy, who was still asleep in the bunk above his own. 

His gloved hand found the edge of the door, then the doorknob. Outside the spotlights beat down, just as they did at all hours. They buzzed, loudly, mechanically, louder than the daemons, the insects… his own breathing. He slipped through the doorway and immediately hung left, searching for the weapons rack. Not the one for training, that was back in the garage, inches from the door. He was looking for something with a blade. 

The weapons rack was still where Aranea had showed him, last, in the old van that once served as a hunter's shop. He was lucky it hadn't moved. Sometimes it did, primarily when they were hauling construction materials and felt they had the fuel to spare. His fingertips dragged across the dusty enamel until he found the separation between the doors, then slowly explored to either side until he found the latch. His fingers pressed upwards until the rubber coated metal clicked and the door swung free. It would have been easy to simply call his weapons to his hands, but if it were true, if the ability was linked to King Noctis' lifeforce in the way he believed it was ...he refused.

A polearm was easy to find. Simple, practical, though lacking the special qualities he was used to in such a weapon. The weight of it in his hand, however, was familiar. Almost nostalgic. Prompto had his memories, his moments atop the roof, Ignis would have this. He couldn't really remember the positions of the stars, but this was tactile in the most cold and unfeeling way. It was exactly what he needed to ease the wound in his core. 

Weapon acquired, Ignis now only needed to find his way over the barricaded fence and away from the lights of the encampment. 

….

He found that way in the slightest gap between fencing panels, between the newly erected barricade and the fence that had been demolished with the daemon attack almost two months ago. It took him longer than he wanted to find it, bare fingers sliding over the repetitive pattern of chained links until he felt the nip of cut aluminum and pulled his hand back. It stung but he didn't feel the wetness of blood. Instead, as his thumb rubbed across his fingertips, he felt the calluses forming slowly beneath the surface that had likely saved his hands from further damage. 

Ignis paused, his ears catching the faint rumble of a vehicle. From the distance it sounded as though it were approaching the entrance of hammerhead. The engine slowed with the slightest squeal of worn brake pads and softened to an idle as a single door clicked open. At any other moment Ignis would have hurried, made his escape before he was noticed…

… but at this hour, of course he hesitated. The gate rang as the person on the other side unlatched it, then it scraped and skidded as it opened, the hollow metal jangling and announcing its presence and the presence of the guest. Once the sounds of the gate had stopped the car revved and rolled into the camp, crackling slowly against the gravel scattered atop the concrete. 

"Ignis!" The voice was familiar, but one he'd only heard once or twice before. Ignis frowned and clicked his tongue against his teeth. He turned as though to look at the man with a smile, though he couldn't picture a single detail to put with the voice. No height, weight, not the drape of his clothes or the expressions on his face. Nothing. "Hey, is Cindy around? We're running a bit late bringing the cargo by. And we brought someone with. Someone important."

"Is that so?" Ignis hummed and shifted his weight, acting as though the polearm clamped in his aching grasp was meant to be there, despite his unsteady stance. "She's asleep, I believe. The bunks in the garage, if you're inclined to check."

"Thanks. I'll do that." There was a hesitance to the comment, as though something were amiss. Ignis ran a hand down his chest, making sure that his buttons weren't askew. It still happened, now and again. 

"Ignis."

The breath in Ignis’ throat stopped and his fake, forced smile fell. He may not have recognized the voice of the man from the supply truck, but Aranea's sharp, rigid tone was something he would never forget. It was the same voice she used when she felt he was starting to give up, or when he pulled his strikes to avoid the vibrations in his arms. 

"Weapons stay in the van when not in use, and you're certainly not ready to train on your own."

He wasn't a damned child. As much as he knew that wasn't the point, the anger bubbled in the spaces beneath the blind man's skin, hammered that idiotic sentence into his bones, again and again. "Of course, Miss Highwind. I had my reasons, but nevermind that."

Ignis couldn't cut the bitter taste of his words, but it didn't matter as he flipped the spearhead to the ground and wedged it in the sandy, crumbled earth at the edge of Hammerhead's borders. He moved past the others, contacting nothing but wisps of clothes and the barely visible cast cutouts from the overhead lights that most would call shadows. 

…

Talcott Hester had been the 'important person' the supply man had mentioned. From what Ignis managed to piece together, Lestallum had been nothing but a host of bad memories for the boy. Over the last few months, Talcott's mental health had declined rapidly until the decision to move him to Hammerhead had been finalized. 

Gladio and Iris had been strongly against the move. They had known him the longest. They should be able to take care of him, treat him as a replacement to the proper family that had been lost to him so soon in his short life. The Amicitias and Hesters had always been together. They should stay that way. 

Ignis understood it wasn't that, at all. He was sure the Amicitia siblings did too, deep down. What Talcott was experiencing, it was a darkness deeper than the night. It was a pit of despair and loneliness that no amount of comfort or familiarity could fill. Ignis was living within that bleak coil, and he was starting to accept the darkness would never leave him. Talcott was too young to come to peace with the loss of his grandfather so quickly, and certainly the wound was too fresh for the boy to  _ live _ where he’d seen the man die. Iris and Gladio, they had been trained their whole lives to fight and see death as an inevitable eventuality. Talcott had been raised to write shopping lists and press suits. A kitchen knife was as close to a weapon as he'd ever been meant to wield. 

Unfortunately, Ignis knew all of that had changed the moment the long night had fallen. Regardless of what the boy had been meant to do, all of them were going to have to learn to wield a weapon, sooner or later. Maybe it was for the best that he'd started his travels now. And maybe it was also best that Ignis kept his distance and continued his training. 

Time passed as worthless numbers counted, and instead of days or hours Ignis notched his training sessions in his skull. Each and every time he swung the polearm was a step forward. Every time he spun his daggers in his hands was two. 

"Today we're trying something different." The whip of air in front of Ignis was nothing unfamiliar. He'd learned Aranea had a soft spot for a bit of flourish in her fighting style. Her moves were either quick and mostly for show… or slow but incredibly, deadly powerful. He could easily pick out her strikes by the way the sound cut through the air. Not that it helped him block as cleanly as he'd like. 

"Not that it will make much difference to you, Ignis but… this one's for the rest of us. Daemons live in the dark. Very rarely do they come inside our lit borders, because the light pains them. Sometimes even destroys them. We must learn how to fight them where they have the advantage because, sometimes, we'll have to venture into that dark world for supplies or travel or rescue. Now. We are going just outside the gates, between Hammerhead and a spotlight I've set up just for this exercise. You will each have your weapon and your flashlight. But that is your  _ only _ source of light. We are going to practice our same routines as normal, but in the darkness."

No one moved except one, Ignis heard the steps stop beside him and he shifted his face towards the pallid shadow. "Ignis, we want you to wear one too. We know it's no good to you, but it's part of the scenario." Fortunately Dale did not clip the flashlight to Ignis's chest himself, but held out the device in close proximity to place it in the Advisor's outstretched hand. Ignis located the flashlight's clip with quick fingers, slid the device in place over his chest pocket, then took a moment to find the raised button he needed to depress to turn on the device. When there was no concern in Dale's heavy breath Ignis assumed it was powered on and ready to go. 

"Why now?" One of the younger hunters asked, her voice shaky despite her obvious attempts to conceal it. 

"Because I've been leaning on my men too long." Aranea's words followed an exasperated sigh. "I need to get back to the rescue and recovery efforts. I've received word from the Niflheim border. Things are getting uglier by the day. Dave has his hands full in Lestallum. Biggs and Wedge are still clearing the outskirts and Loqi's back is breaking. I've requested additional help, but there’s no guarantees. That means all of you have to graduate into hunters. Now."

Whatever aura it was that kept the Dragoon's men in line, Ignis could feel it now, like a cold pressure that stopped in his throat. Any further questions or protests were stifled before they could be uttered and Aranea's heels clicked past the lot with unfaltering confidence. 

…

Fear. Anxiety. It wasn't some sixth sense that made Ignis realize the feelings of the hunters all around him. He could hear it in whispered titters, shaky, shallow breaths and the restless scraping of boots on the gravely earth. In fact, other than Aranea and Dale, Ignis seemed to be the only one with his head properly on his shoulders and his muscles cocked and ready rather than in full defensive. 

Ignis knew the fear, anxiety and hesitation was warranted, and yet, as he stood in the darkness that had become his permanent residence, he had the distinct advantage of not being alarmed by the lack of visibility. It was not to say he couldn't tell the difference. The faint shadows by which he, in part, gauged his surroundings were gone. The air was colder and the wind actually pressed through his clothing into his skin. 

And the lights… for the faintest moment he was dazzled. They were small, erratic lights like the lightning flies that used to frequent the Citadel courtyards at night. But they weren't insects at all. They were the lights clipped to the chests of his companions. He could  _ see _ them in a way he hadn't seen anything in the overlit camp. This wasn't halos of vague light, fuzzy, milky shadows that were barely discernible without the cues of sound. It was precise and vivid. 

"All right. Drills." Aranea's voice rang clearly, no longer hampered by the hum of the lights and machines. "And when the daemons show, if it's anything bigger than a pack of imps, we blast the spotlights and run."

"Daemons… I thought you said just practice." The same girl from before, the one with the high, shaky voice. 

"It wouldn't be a proper graduation without a field test, would it?" Ignis could hear the mirth in their teacher's voice. It seemed to do no more than unsettle the cadets but… Ignis agreed. Not only was he fully aware Aranea could handle anything that crawled from the darkness, but if these hunters couldn't actually step up and protect each other from the daemons, they were already as good as dead.

"You flounder like you've never held a weapon before." Ignis clicked his tongue. At one point he would have been considered one of their best combatants. He was Crownsguard trained, protector to the Prince of Lucis and a hunter of merit. All these people saw, however, was the blind man he now was. He frowned and spun his polearm into a defensive position, flawlessly. "But this is not the world in which we once lived. This is an endless night, fraught with terrors and dangers unlike your worst nightmare. You cannot be coddled if you hope to survive, and if you cannot survive now, the night only promises to get darker."

"Took the words right out of my mouth, Scientia." Aranea actually sounded pleased by his comment, something that didn't occur very often from his recollection. "We don't know when or if this thing will end, so if you're going to give up, might as well be now."

A collective of gasps followed on the heels of a familiar fluid bubbling, though the creaks and chatters were not those of goblins. It was never easy to describe how he could tell daemons apart by the sounds they made, even before they started to drag themselves from the liquid miasma that pooled in the dirt, but Ignis had always been able to do it. Now, without the advantage of sight, the cacophonous chitters and growls screamed in his ears like an alarm. 

"Necromancer!" Ignis threw himself into a defensive position and turned towards the direction of the beasts, only to be stopped in his tracks by yet another surprise. It was a light. The necromancer  _ glowed  _ with infernal flame, outlining it's form as the skeletons scattered around it and took shape. A moment later the light waned, but did not disappear entirely. Perhaps the light was erratic… but he could use this. 

Almost as if he was meant to live in the dark. 


	3. Chapter 3

Ignis had known Talcott Hester as long as the boy had been alive. He'd been fourteen when Talcott's father had joyously announced the birth of his first and only son. He clearly remembered hearing the news when the man had stopped at the academy that he and Gladio attended, chauffeuring Gladio home, as was his job. He had accepted a ride to his uncle's apartment which was only blocks from the manor, at the time. Ignis wasn't sure why the memory was so clear. 

The next memory was only a few years later. Jared had been babysitting young Talcott while his parents were out of town, Ignis couldn't recall why the couple had left, only that they had. Iris had been there, entertaining the small boy but he didn’t recall much of her otherwise. Gladio had been irritated about a girlfriend or something of the sort, something Ignis had tried hard to ignore in favor of the notecards in his hands. Ignis had only been there to help study, he never talked about his personal life, he didn't really have one, and it had bothered him that it was all Gladio wanted to talk about. 

But, still, he remembered all those things, those feelings as Jared had come in from a call he'd taken in the kitchen. His face had been sheet white and when he opened his mouth to tell them that…

And then three years ago at Cape Caem. He hadn’t been in Lestallum, but that was when he heard...

Ignis shivered, his hands pausing as they ran across the old wooden artifact, trying to detect any bumps or anomalies in the surface. 

"I don't think we're going to find anything but daemons unless we go deeper into the mines." Talcott sighed, flipping slowly through one of many books that had been scattered about the miners' quarters. Books that Talcott had collected and stacked only minutes before. 

"We cannot go deeper until Cindy finishes replicating the daemon banishing lamps." Ignis' tone was still shaking off ice from the dive into his memories. His fingers slipped from the old wooden box, having found nothing unusual. "Until then we cover the surface levels of the old ruins, looking for evidence of Solheim influence and nothing more."

"We aren't going to find a way to destroy the Starscourge except in the deepest depths, and this place? This place isn't nearly old enough to have ruins beneath it." At ten years of age Talcott was sharp. Keycatrich held little in regards to the old world. Even the statue of the Founder King held nothing of interest, dating back only a few hundred years, according to recovered records. 

It didn't matter to Ignis. Even should their searches yield nothing, as the prophecy foretold, he would take every opportunity to shatter the daemons into miasma until he single handedly destroyed every last one of them. "Still, there was once a Menace here, which means there is much Sania can glean from anything we might find. It's likely that the town, and the mines, were built around it. Those empty arcane jail cells are the last remaining clues from the line of witches, ever since Kimya disappeared."

“Then why are we up here, rather than down there?” Talcott huffed, his smaller frame moving towards, then past Ignis in his frustration.   
  
“The entrance is all the way past the King’s tomb, farther than is safe to tread. And then behind the gate itself is a deep dungeon. It was once filled with terrifying beasts, and may still be home to some, possibly worse than those that came before.” Ignis lifted his body from his task to catch Talcott’s arm, much to the boy’s apparent surprise. “Rather, we should head back to camp. It’s a long ways back to Hammerhead, yet, and we left Agnes with the engine running.”

Ignis could feel the contempt radiating off of Talcott, an aura that was rather unusual for the typically level headed and practical boy. “I’m starting to think you don’t even care about finding a cure to the Starscourge.”   
  


It was more complicated than that. He didn’t have time to explain, despite the fact he knew that of everyone Talcott deserved to know. At first it had been an excuse, using Talcott as his eyes while he chased a dream made impossible by the weavings of fate. Since it had become more than that. The boy, younger still in Ignis’ mind’s eye, was his ground. He kept Ignis from losing himself. Ever since his burning self loathing had gone to embers he’d needed such an anchor. “That’s simply not true. I am just… aware that finding anything of use as we are is a long shot. I needed to scout the old ruins to determine the types of daemons and their power. It’s important for when we return with the banishing lights.”

A small grunt, one that would have gone unnoticed by anyone else, left the young Hester’s lips. “We have to go a little deeper. At least to the door. If we don’t do that everything’s wasted.”

And before Ignis could protest he heard soft footsteps receding and the bouncing, erratic firefly that was Talcott’s flashlight became obscured, leaving Ignis in the pitch black behind. He couldn’t sit there and let a ten year old fling himself into danger. It wasn’t right. “Talcott! Hold!” The footsteps did not slow. All Ignis could do in turn was move quicker and try to catch up. “We haven’t cleared the rooms! We don’t know what dangers lie that far in the tunnels!”

A broken record, skipping his warning on deaf ears. Ignis broke into a trot and then a run. At this point even the remaining bottles and broken furniture were deadly hazards as nothing in the depths reflected the faintest of lights. All it took was one miscalculated step, one piece of debris that found the sole of his foot rather than the toe. He could hear the sound of scraping in the walls, a glass bottle that rolled against the uneven pitting of the carved rock floor, an inhuman laugh at the edges of his sanity and, in the distance, footsteps. “Talcott!”

Whether it was his shouts or their footsteps or even the heat of their bodies, Ignis was unsure, but the daemons had sensed them. Small bubbles of red and purple rose, burst and dissipated in his peripherals. Even before he saw their awful, radiating light Ignis knew they were Erishkegal. They were short in stature but their elongated claws and snaggled teeth were as sharp as knives and their hunger was unyielding. Ignis drew the daggers from the sheathes at his sides and spun them once, tracking each wisp of light for the appropriate advantage. 

First he had to locate Talcott. 

Footsteps had ceased but for the scraping, skittering pad of the daemons' feet. That didn't mean Talcott wasn't in the vicinity. In fact he assumed quite the opposite. He paused, centering himself and drawing in a long breath. There, he could hear the boy's frightened breath with the faintest tick that suggested an elevated heartbeat. "Hide! Find something their claws cannot penetrate and get behind or under it. Metal or stone, Talcott!"

Ignis didn't have time to dally. The Erishkegal were not the easiest of marks but Ignis had faced far worse. Fire was their weakness and that was something he could still call upon without pulling from Noctis's lifeforce, as the link itself was all he needed to be able to use the stores of elemental magic drawn from the havens. Alight with flame, his blades spun and cut; the satisfying ringing sound of searing metal on daemon flesh and the breathy screeches as they fell back into the miasma from which they came was his dissonant orchestra of war. 

There were six. Four had already been dispatched by his blades. The fifth was close.

A piercing shriek of terror caught Ignis in his tracks just as the fifth daemon dissipated. Ignis had no doubt who it was or what direction it came from and his heart jumped into his throat. The final erratic purple light had managed to evade his senses just enough to find an easier target. 

Ignis hurled one dagger, then the other with a spin, embedding the weapons into the middle of the erratic outline. The winged fiend screeched and Ignis took the staggered moment to descend, pulling his polearm from the holster on his back. There was no fire this time, but the polearm came down with force. Ignis could feel the crack and splinter of bone through the reverberation in his weapon, but he could also tell the daemon was not quite done. 

He jumped back and readied for a second attack, but the creature's attention didn't seem to waver. A whip of air followed, a loud steel sheet of a clang. Ignis couldn't react fast enough. He was quick but Talcott was quicker, more spry and definitely more erratic. His small footsteps pounded and echoed. Ignis could assume what had just happened and nothing more, but what he did know was that Talcott’s attack, while well intentioned, didn’t even dent the Erishkegal’s skin. 

“Talcott!” Ingis rushed forward knowing that, if he were too slow, Talcott’s life could very well be forfeit.   
  


…

Ignis pulled a strip of fabric from the bottom of his shirt, cutting it loose with one of the daggers he’d retrieved after the daemon which it penetrated dissipated into miasma. His fingers shook with the action; dipping into his wounds and coming back wet, his digits worked as deftly as he was able, pulling the cloth tight around his thigh. If it had been arterial he never would have been able to finish his own treatment, and yet still the flow of blood had not ebbed, and thus his anxiety spiked and his heartbeat rose. His breath was shallowed by stress and exertion while the wound throbbed beneath his makeshift tourniquet. He couldn’t think of anything else. Why couldn’t he think of anything else?

The light at the edge of his peripheral had long since flickered and gone dark, yet anything that might have been lurking in the darkness was of little consequence in comparison to the blood that would just.. Not… stop… the sharp scrape and crackle of a stick match rippled in Ignis’ ears as Talcott attempted to renew a semblance of light. Ignis couldn’t see the matchlight. It was too small, too dim. He didn’t need it to understand the issue at hand. 

“Ignis… you’re-” Talcott’s breath shuddered with a pang of fear. The sound was all too common to Ignis’ ears. It was a combination of graveled anxiety and lucid apprehension balled into a small, tight sigh without temperature and without movement. 

“Fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.” Talcott shuffled closer, his own narrow fingertips hovering some distance away. Ignis wasn’t sure how he could gauge the distance, almost as though the boy’s fear radiated like a magnetic energy field. “Let me-”

The reflex was taut. Without a conscious thought Ignis slapped Talcott’s hand away, his gloved fingers staying still in their outstretched position. Talcott let out a slight gasp, his limbs drawing away quickly. His breath caught, then held. Ignis’ face was stern and cold as his closed eyes directed toward the boy. “Don’t… touch me!”

Talcott stuttered as he tried to collect his thoughts. Ignis could not see the way Talcott pulled into himself, but he could feel it, the small body drawing tighter and closer into itself. Ignis’ breaths were heavy and he pushed himself back, trying to draw himself to his feet despite the wound on his leg. He was successful, though the resulting shocks of pain were deep and spreading from his heel to the pinnacle of his hip. Talcott didn’t seem able to speak or make a noise beyond the whimpering babble that drew from his lips. Immediately Ignis was struck with guilt, and the feeling dug a deep trench in his chest, completely upturning the tension that rose to his shoulders and jaw. 

He was a monster. It was undeniable, and yet, despite the way his own claws shredded at his guts he couldn’t allow Talcott or anyone else to touch him. It was more than he deserved, ever again. How could he decide to allow such kindness when his King, the man he had given his entire life to protect, was forced into solitary confinement without a gentle hand to guide him or allow him a moment’s peace? No. If Noctis were forced to suffer he would do so tenfold for failing to save him. 

…

That same night, or what Ignis' internal clock had decided was night, Ignis packed his few meager belongings into a leather messenger bag and stashed it beneath his bunk. All that was inside were two pairs of clothing, his little black cookbook, which he kept despite not being able to read it and, for some reason, a small jewelry box. Inside was a small wooden coeurl, it's head attached with a small spring that let it bounce if it were tapped gently. For some reason Gladio had insisted on buying one for each of them at a shop in front of the gondola to the colosseum, though the animals themselves differed. It wasn't anything. It wasn't important. The most significant thing the carved animal had ever done was survive the fall of Altissia, stashed in his pocket. Still it made its way into his pack and he thought nothing of it until two days later. 

When the hunters loaded up the caravan it was simple enough to slide his small bag over his shoulder and hop onto the back of the truck as though he were supposed to be there. None of the men questioned it. They slid open the chain link gate, turned the engine and flicked on the daemon repelling lights. Minutes later they were headed down the road towards Lestallum. 

The road was bumpier than Ignis remembered and the trip longer, but for the first time in almost a year he felt wind through his hair that wasn't accompanied by sweat. It sent shivers down his arms and immediately he pulled his jacket closed. 

Outside Hammerhead the world was awash with sounds, Ignis had always noticed it. But now, as the sounds came and were quickly left behind he couldn't tell how far away the daemons were, the difference between a herd of anak or spiracorn… or even if such beasts weren't from the deep corners of his imagination. He felt entirely small in a way he'd never felt before. He could hear the expanse of everything, barely perceive hundreds if not thousands of flickering stars in the distance like a haze of death and destruction. And if he looked up? Only the light of the moon stayed the same. 


	4. Chapter 4

Lestallum didn't quite sound or smell the same as the last time Ignis had been there.

As they passed over the single remaining bridge of entrance the heavy steel fortress gates were not a surprise and neither were the men pacing the borders in thick soled boots that shifted metal weapons in their grasps. It wasn't until they were well within city limits that Ignis noticed it. It was… louder than he remembered. Men, women and children alike, murmuring into a hum that only grew with each lowered voice until it became a single overwhelming wave. The members of the caravan had made a few trips before and, each time they said, the walls came in a little closer and people were pulled in tighter. 

Honestly it explained the smell that followed. It smelled of sweat and earth, a cloying, damp smell that Ignis had not ever encountered. Not to this degree. Underneath it was something musty, almost like there were stables and farmland in the distance. Then again, he knew the water no longer ran and that baths were less frequent, often communal. Food and sleeping quarters were much the same. Everything was made or collected into Lestallum and distributed amongst those that lived there with no denomination separating noble from peasant, Lucian from Niff, or even hunters from soldiers. Of course Ignis understood the hunters and soldiers held a bit of clout. They kept the people safe and collected supplies. Dave Auburnbrie was seen by many as the head of the city for his role as head of the hunters. Still, when it came to where the men slept or the food they ate, no man outranked another. 

It was an unfortunate truth, Ignis realized, that it took the end of the world for its people to work together. Hopefully such a sentiment lasted. 

There were hundreds of buildings in Lestallum and yet even that had not been enough for the mass influx of refugees from every arm of Eos. Everything had been converted, either to sleeping quarters, common areas, food production or training grounds. As Ignis moved the streets he found very little room to move. Even with the other hunters it was like moving against the current, despite the fact no one was actually touching. The crowds parted for them, understanding very well that their role in this city was to bring in necessary goods and equipment that they all needed to survive. And when they left, if they left, it would be much the same.

Ignis was not going to leave. At least for now. Once they had reached the city center and dispersed the sacks of mechanical scraps and boxes of clean glass to be melted down into lamps and weapons he was going to make his way into the city and see if he could find a bed, and for how long. 

Perhaps, with the smells and the constant thrum of sound he would regret it, but time would tell. 

"It was Gladiolus Amicitia." Ignis's ears perked at mention of the name, reminded of something else in Lestallum… 

"Are you sure? Again?" Ignis paused. The man sounded heavily agitated, his high baritone somewhat strained. 

"It was him alright. For a guy with such a friendly name he sure does rage quit a lot. Destroyed the whole weapons rack."

"Maybe that girlfriend of his finally broke up with him."

"Girlfriend?" Oh. Ignis' thought was much the same. The Shield had sent letters to Prompto and never once mentioned a woman. Though, to be honest he shouldn't have been surprised. 

"A guy like that always has a girlfriend. And if he weren't such an angry asshole, maybe he could keep one."

Ignis resumed walking. He couldn't dawdle and it wasn't fair to intrude on the business of others, even when it was spoken in a public forum. It wasn't as though he intended to let Gladio know where he was, at least for a long as possible.

...

Ignis was set up in a bunk in a building on the south end of town that used to be some sort of professional space. The rooms were barely larger than closets, but that fact alone meant it was one of few places where only half of the population had roommates. 'Lucky' for him, they just had an opening. 

His fingers ran along the wallpaper in the hallway as they approached, finding it in decent condition, with no peels or curls at the midpoint of the wall. The bumps of his door frame were softened by multiple layers of paint. There were no longer locks on the doors, he’d been told, though as the hunter in charge of showing him to residence opened the door ahead of him he didn’t even hear a click, as though the entire latch mechanism had been removed, and probably the doorknob, by default. The room smelled like the rest of the city, but thicker, evidence that a lot of time had been spent and cleaning had not occured before his assignment. 

“If you don’t want the blankets or the sleeping bag we can take ‘em out.” The Hunter, who had not given his name, spoke flatly in guttural tones. “I’ll gather the weapons and books though. Ain’t thinkin’ you’ll be needing those. Mattress is in good shape, toilets are down the hall.”

“No, thank you.” Ignis was aware of what the man was saying, though the hint of anger in his tone was not intentional. Logically he knew the man was right. He’d come in with weapons, most hunters knew who he was and where he’d come from… and his blindness was not well hidden either in that knowledge or by the tinted sunglasses he still habitually wore when he was inside the blinding lights of human habitation. Offense was not necessary. The man had refrained from touching him and had not offered to show him around or take pity. “Is there a place I can launder said blankets and such?”

“Yeah, down the stairs we came up, on the base floor there’s a communal laundry spot. You’re good to use it so long as you don’t go heavy on the soap. We’re still learning soap making basics but the ingredients don’t just come rolling in on their own. I don’t blame ya, though. Not so comfortable trying to sleep in an unfamiliar man’s stink.” The man paused. Ignis had been listening as the man gathered up a few things in the bag he’d had slung over his shoulder, out of habit. He didn’t care what the other took away, all he’d asked for was a place to sleep and it was more than sufficient. “I… hate ta ask, but, your glasses, those things have any real purpose or just to keep people from asking stupid questions?” The chuckle that followed was slightly nervous. 

Ignis rolled his head, switching from listening to the man collecting items from the room and to the noise from the surrounding rooms and beyond. “I can tell there’s a window in this room because I can sense light. Not much else. Sometimes the floodlights that keep the daemons at bay do cause a bit of sensitivity and the glasses help.”

“I thought that might be the case.” Ignis could hear the hunter zip up the bag, shift it on the floor and then hoist it up on his shoulder. It seemed to be moderately heavy, if the airy grunt and pull of the fabric was an indication. “You should talk to Randolph about that, he might have a better solution for ya.”

Ignis moved his head back towards the Hunter in surprise. “Randolph, the old weaponsmith? He still operates in Lestallum?”

“Good, if you’re familiar then he’s even more likely to help out. Really the hunters owe that old man a lot.”

The advisor nodded and moved his own bag off over his head and beside the mattress, which he’d found with the tips of his boots. “I may do that.”

“And… you should probably go see Gladiolus. He lives in the next building over, the old Hotel? He stays with his sister and an old mechanic. I think he’d be happy to see you.”

To that, however, Ignis remained silent. 

…

Unfortunately avoiding someone he could not see was harder than anticipated. Ignis kept his head down each time he left the building in which he resided and kept to the edges of the crowds, but since he’d contracted with the Hunters it was only a matter of time before he ran into one of those three people. Cid mostly kept to himself, spending his days lounging around. Iris was currently learning her paces in the training ground, another spot he could rather easily avoid, though he’d heard she often helped out all over town with the elderly and the medical squads. Gladio was going to be the hard one. After two weeks it had yet to happen for only one reason. 

Gladio almost never stayed within the walls of Lestallum. Those that did not know him referred to him as ‘that guy with the Coleman tent strapped to his back’, and those that did… worried for his mental health. Occasionally Ignis had been tempted to reach out and offer aid as he once would have, but he knew the truth. They were both broken and shattered to bits. Putting that together would take someone far better constructed than he. Perhaps one of the girlfriends Ignis had heard so much about would be able to do that for him, but not Ignis, himself. Eventually he’d find someone to open up to, someone to quell his rage, but Ignis, knowing the images in his head that flashed on repeat, could only make it worse. 

Yes, that knowledge hurt and each time he thought about it he could feel his insides flecking apart. But he would do as he had always done and act only in the betterment of everybody, even if that meant not being present at all.

“Ignis! Hey, Ignis!” It was the voice of the same man Ignis had met his first day in Lestallum, the one that had directed him to his room. Since that day he’d learned the man’s name was Maverick, though he’d gone by Rick after leaving Niflheim to join the ranks of Hunters during the fall of Gralea. He used to be a subway operator by profession and in his spare time he liked to carve dice. He was also handy with a machete and crossbow, but by no means to the level of Dave or Prompto. Ignis had been learning a lot about the locals in his short stay. “Glad I caught you. Scouts saw a dropship go down near the crag and we’re going out on an emergency run to check for survivors and, yanno, probably salvage whatever we can. First wave is already out but we can use whoever we can get.”

“Very well, I can assist.” Ignis had not been planning to attend a hunt until later in the day, but his weapons were already on hand. “Lead the way.” 

Ignis cut from the edge of the crowd and followed Rick’s footfalls down an adjoining and surprisingly empty alley. Without the alleys the city would have been a maze, but those that knew the streets knew them well and any shortcut that was used was done so with care. 

“We’ve got a few others, Yara is recruiting on the other side!” Rick huffed, his words broken as he didn’t slow to make conversation. It didn’t matter, Ignis was good at keeping up. As long as he kept his arms ahead of his body and turned precisely when he was supposed to, the lack of shadows would not send him sprawling or headfirst into a wall. 

From the directions of their turns Ignis posited they had moved towards the old steps that were once the front entrance of the city. He could feel the architecture open as the heat of bodies thinned. “What? Rick? Only one?” It was Yala, one of the older female hunters from Dave’s private group. Her tone was very deep and serious, but nothing out of the norm despite the pitch rising as she chastised her younger companion. 

“You’re one to talk! You only got one, too!” Rick skidded to a stop and Ignis slowed his steps, barely having to catch his breath. 

“Fine. Again!” Yala scoffed. 

“Again! You guys head out when you’re ready. Stay in pairs.” And with that and soles on stone the air broke beside Ignis as Rick passed by. Yala had done the same, but her direction had been the opposite. 

It was very little direction, and Ignis popped a hand to his hip. It was very like hunters not to explain a situation fully before continuing on a self imposed mission. At least he knew the gist of what they were doing and what they were searching for, but a general direction would have been nice for his sake. “I assume, though you’re silent as stone, that you have been briefed in what this impromptu rescue mission entails, or at least the location of the aforementioned craft?”

There was another pause and Ignis felt nervous and exposed, as though there was actually no one across from him and it had all been a prank. He could hear it, though, the breathing of someone close by, in the general direction Yala had been standing. “Ah… is there something on my face?”

There was a creak of leather and then quick steps with a long stride that hit the concrete with a somewhat...familiar gait. “Ignis!”

And with the husky baritone that called his name in such a desperate way Ignis froze, unable to move until it was almost too late. He pulled back from groping hands with a single step back and then centered himself, reevaluating his surroundings from his memory. “Gladio.”

A breath finally escaped Ignis’ chest when he did not find Gladio’s hands grasping towards him again. Instead the man let out a loud bark of a laugh that sounded warm. “I heard you were in town, I tried to stop by a couple times but… nice… visor thing. Looks good.”

Ignis swallowed, his chest growing tight as he turned his head away. “Yes, well, it was not acquired for aesthetic value. Such things are not a necessary concern for me, anymore.”

“Uh, yeah. Of course.” What was it Ignis was hearing in Gladio’s voice? He couldn’t pin it down even as he himself began shuffling in place, potentially blocking out any minute details that could help him decipher the unusual tone. “But it does. Looks like you’ve come into yourself pretty, well. Even without, you know, my help.”

Ignis raised a brow and directed his face toward the Shield. “You need not worry about me, Gladio. I told you as much, before. Besides, I’ve heard you’ve not been quite yourself since your departure. I did not want to disturb.”

“Stress…” Gladio said with a swallow, “You know how that is. I’ve been… kinda under a lot. There’s a lot to take care of here. The supply routes, Iris, Cid, making sure everyone is fed and trained and as comfortable as they can be in the circumstance. I could go on if you like.”

“I quite get it.” Ignis sighed, lining his right foot with the left that had taken a step back. “Though you still have a role to play when Noctis returns from the Crystal. To see him to his fate.”

“When.” Gladio reiterated. “Right now I have to make sure everyone else gets to that point, too. It ain’t rainbows and sunshine. But you knew that. Besides, the way my father always put it, the job of a Crownsguard is first to the people. I’m a Shield of the King, yes. That’ll always be with me. But I’m a Crownsguard too, and I can’t leave our people to suffer. So are you, yanno?”

“I am many things. Not all of them are so pleasant.” Ignis mumbled, his brow lowering behind his visor. “I’m doing my part for the people of Lestallum, I assure you. It is the only task that remains of me. I have already failed my King once. That was enough.” 

More than enough. Ignis felt a spike in his chest. He could see the blade protruding from it in his mind’s eye, though it was Noctis’ hand that gripped it rather than his own. Noctis’ sword. Noctis’ tears that dropped from his chin and Noctis’ heart that thumped one final time before falling silent. Ignis shuddered. For a moment he couldn’t feel or hear and even his missing sight was temporarily a point of fear. 

“I’ve failed!” Ignis didn’t know where it had come from, why he shouted and immediately he pulled his hand to his chest, realizing the visions were not real. They were never real and they were not his. Not yet.

“Ignis, what the hell! What's up with you?” Ignis could feel his own breath shuddering and the beating of his own heart muffled his ears. Gladio’s words pierced through clearly, and only Gladio’s words. 

He felt dizzy. “I told you. I’m a failure. I deserve none of your kindness or your compassion. I have had one job, my entire life. I was not a brother, a son or anything else. This and only this was my fate. I have lived my entire life for Noctis, only to fail him when it mattered most!” 

“You think you’re the only one who failed? Welcome to the club. Nothin’ says ‘failure’ like a Shield that can’t protect his King. A thousand years ago? I woulda been honor bound to sit beside my King until the end. Be the Crystal… his grave… anything. How do you think it feels to be the first Shield in ages to have been a failure? Dad,” Gladio cleared his throat. “Dad did it the right way. He died with honor. Me… if I were half the man dad was, I would be in Gralea. In Zegnatus. Sitting in front of the Crystal until I could no longer stand or sit or breathe…”

"The crystal is no longer in Gralea." Ignis cut, the cold steel in his voice pointed inward, not out. "You told me this, yourself."

"You know what I mean, Ignis." The syllables of his name were jagged from Gladio's lips and Ignis felt even that hurt like a fresh but shallow wound, sharp and hot. 

"You forget something. Gladiolus." Ignis’s voice shook. "We were raised beside him, tailored for him, all the while everyone knew his fate but us! Knew he would leave us, yet still left us as lambs for the slaughter! We were literally raised to fail. To hold his hand, be his friends, because it's easier for them to raise us to this fate like penned animals than let it fall on someone that actually mattered! Once this is over… the world doesn't need us anymore. We've outlived our use…being a failure of a Shield? That's the least of your worries!" Ignis paused, the rage curdling in his gut until he was almost too sick to speak. "Or perhaps it's the opposite. I suppose that's your decision."

“You’re forgetting something, too, Ignis.” But Gladio’s voice was ragged on the edge of a growl, a tone he had only even used on Ignis once before. “If all that’s true and it was that fucking prophecy? You didn’t have any choice but to fail. Neither of us did and nothing we say or do even matters. So you wanna be a dick and close everybody out and be miserable? There’s nothing stopping you or forcing your hand. That’s on you!”


	5. Chapter 5

The sound of his heart in his ears had become thundering. Ignis could barely feel his fingertips as he slashed through yet another daemon. It was one after another, after another. Ignis could feel his arms growing weak and the sweat streaming down his face and dampening his clothes. 

But it felt good. 

It had been two hours since he’d lost sight of the rescue and salvage team, but each step he moved into the wilderness the daemons spawned in increased numbers and ferocity and the adrenaline pumping through his veins propelled him forward to obliterate each and every stain on the face of Eos.

“How dare you.” He murmured, the final scream of a wraith shattered the void that surrounded them. And yet he could hear them multiplying. Bubbling from the ground. Roaring as though they had any right to this earth they infected like a plague. “How fucking dare you!”

His polearm lodged deeply into the rotten core of yet another wraith and the beast writhed and groped as though it could feel pain. He knew better than that. They were death. Destruction. This was a mercy. Ignis shifted the polearm and felt the bone beneath crack. Within a moment his blade pierced nothing but the hard, dry ground.

A roar ripped from Ignis’ lips and he tore the weapon from the unforgiving sediment below. “I will tear each of you from this realm!” He paused and looked up at the sky. The moon bearing down on him was full, bright and mocking. “Bahamut, you coward! Why stop with my eyes? Come down here and burn me yourself! Repent for your sins!”

Ignis shivered as an icy breeze blew across his body, catching the sweat on his skin and clothes. There was nothing beyond it. For a time even the daemons went silent as though the Astral’s answer was clear. He was not worth the time. Ignis’ teeth ground in his jaw and a sound escaped that he did not recognize. 

When the next daemon dragged its body from the miasma below Ignis tightened his fist around his lance, but the strength was not there. “You bastard.” Ignis chuckled, a dark, ugly sound that crackled from his lips as he struggled to lift his weapon and shift a few steps back. There was blood on his lips, his knuckles and his knees that he had not noticed before. But now it was starting to dry and the pain that had been suppressed now stung like hundreds of tiny needles in his skin. “Stopping just enough to eliminate the advantage of adrenaline. You really are, as they say, the worst. I hope you burn in your own fires for what you’ve done to Noct… to all of us..”

The reversed ticking of a clock pricked at his ears and Ignis took a step back, his knees wobbling under his own weight. It was close, twenty, maybe thirty paces. From his back there was a gust of wind that pushed upwards and attempted to dislodge his shirt, but was ineffectual in its attempts. The real misfortune came in what Ignis knew that meant. There was a chasm only a short distance behind him and an iron giant at his front. The odds he would be coming out of the encounter unscathed were dropping drastically by the second.

…

He’d blacked out. 

Sucking in a gasping breath Ignis’ hand moved to his forehead, feeling for the wound he instinctively knew had to be there. Maybe it wasn’t so much an instinct. His head was throbbing. When he found it the bump was small and there was no blood, but it had been enough that he didn’t remember the time span between his last footing and being sprawled atop a bed of fallen rocks, his heels upslope from his back and his polearm missing. Ignis slowly lifted his head despite the pain and began to shift and find the earth beneath him.

Nothing felt broken. He was sore, a bit battered, but relatively in one piece. He patted his sides for his daggers and again felt nothing. “Damn. The bloody hell did I end up?”

Ignis shifted to his side and decided if he were to figure that out at all, he would need to inspect his surroundings. First he looked up. The moon stared back at him, but no matter the direction he turned he could not see the halo of light emitted by Lestallum or any other human source. The crunch of his shoes echoed, but no matter how Ignis turned he could hear nothing else. No daemons scratching at distant walls, no water or falling stone. No nefarious breath in the dark. Slowly he groped for the wall, which was slanted, almost rounded. Like a tunnel. And yet, above him bared the moon, silently gazing and nothing more. The rock was smooth under his touch, weathered over many years by the elements but not notable otherwise. He followed the rock for a moment, stopped when a pebble kicked forward dropped off a ledge and bounced down below. He waited for the echo to stop. Silently he counted the number of times the rock made contact until it finally fell free. Ignis never heard it hit the bottom. 

It was a bad sign. A very, very bad sign. Ignis could not trust in following the walls and yet, down below was a fatal fall of unknown depth. He needed to find a way up and out. Standing still, the breeze he’d felt before curled around him gently, but rather than coming from below it was from his side. Perhaps, if Ignis was lucky, following that breeze would lead him to an outlet on the surface. Every system of tunnels and ruins in Eos had an exit on the surface, did it not? Well, if it did not then he would be dying a pathetic death.    
  
…

The open tunnel changed to a closed one, and as Ignis continued he lost track of time or distance, encircled by darkness and silence. The darkness he was growing to understand, but the silence was new and slowly split open an emptiness in his guts that he had not been able to properly pinpoint, before. Here it was at home. It was the sound of his own breath when the breeze died. It was the echo of his boots on rocks where no creature dwelled. It was the end without a beginning. It was floating in his mind and consciousness forever. A place where not even the moon dared dwell. It was the end that came after.

_ After what?  _

Ignis choked on the sob that sprang forward and he pushed it back. 

_ You’re afraid. _

This time the voice was a hollowed echo. The muffled echo held no direction but came from all sides, bouncing off cavern walls until it escaped into the darkness. “By the gods I’m hallucinating.” Ignis swallowed and scraped away the looming tears with the back of his fingerless leather gloves. He knew what was said about those that were locked in solitary confinement, but it had not been long enough. Not remotely. He was stronger than that. His hand brushed yet another wall that felt almost exactly the same and brushed his palm against a rocky edge, listlessly with a clang. 

No, that wasn’t his hand, it was down below. He’d kicked something metal. More than likely it was one of his weapons, separated during the fall. Though, unless he was inadvertently walking circles it should have been impossible. This was awfully far away. Ignis kneeled and reached down, finding a blade and then a hilt. He wrapped his fingers around the weapon and lifted it. That heft; it wasn’t one of his daggers. It was a sword. The advisor turned the sword in his hands. It was well balanced, sharp. Crafted for a warrior, not for show, and yet the metal was pitted and divotted as though it had survived the ravages of many centuries. 

But a weapon was a weapon. Ignis tightened his grip around the relic and continued, using the point to scan the slate below. Almost immediately he heard another sound, gently clashing blades, and the weapon in his hand stalled. He reached out and felt another hilt of a sword, this one embedded into the ground. Ignis’ heart pounded and his head shot up, searching for any sources of light. Maybe something he’d missed. There.

Faint, almost unnoticeable, was a blue fragmented magic, much like that he pulled from Noctis’ tether. Once he saw the first he then saw another, and another yet. Had he been surrounded by some sort of faint light source all around or were they blinking on now that he had made notice of them?

_ Neither,  _ came that same ethereal, disembodied voice. _ The light is a figment of your power. Only those that possess the light within shall illuminate the darkest black.  _

“Wh-who is speaking! Show yourself!” Ignis balked back, the blade in his hand dropping away. 

_ Not that you could see, should I do so. _ The entity spoke, seeming to read the words before Ignis could think them.  _ To meet the Hand of the Last King and Shield, both, is an honor for which prepared, I was not. _

Ignis swallowed hard, searching his memory for what he was hearing. What he was seeing. It was familiar. Desperately familiar. He put a hand to his head and cursed, moving towards the lingering blue shards of light. 

_ I know thou dost not wish to die in this forsaken ruin, though swear upon a warrior’s honor, I do, that you are safe while here you reside.  _

“You’re-” Ignis sucked in a breath, his chest tight. The swords. He imagined there were many, many more right beyond his fingertips. Thousands of warriors had laid down their lives in this place, yet he was here without even a single weapon to call his own. “I am not here to challenge you…”

_ And you need not, for the challenge set by the Astrals has been completed for its final generation. I need not call for your blood or your honor, though I grant that your presence in my realm is not one of accidents. A warrior would come here for challenge. A sage for answers. Which you are, I feel you already know. What more is there to accomplish, he who is but an echo of millenia forgotten? I have served my purpose and am bound no longer, yet I remain. _

“Why?” Ignis didn’t need an answer to that question. Instead a figure formed, or the outline of one, wreathed in a magic that resembled a purple flame slowly flickering into coals. He had never seen a visage of Gilgamesh, but he’d seen paintings in the Amicitia manor of the one thought to be him. “Because you are the Shield of the King. And where he lies… you remain.”

The fading visage nodded, silently, placing his hand on something Ignis could not see.  _ And soon, we will both be freed.  _

It was just as Gladio had said. Ignis’ lips pinched together, already realizing why he had been brought to this place. “It was not only Noct. Each and every person bound to the crown has suffered such a fate.”

_ Many lived full, long lives as mortal men. Some short and cruel. Yet none may pass into the great beyond until the will is fulfilled. We have watched many generations in silent vigil. Bound to the same fate. The Shield is to protect as the Hand is to guide… to the end of days. Every one of us bound to failure and death for the sake of all. You come to me, yet death is not your wish. You fear it, the path you walk is fraught in it, but you must guide. You know this. _

Ignis’ hands gripped his head and he fought back a cry, tensing his jaw. “I cannot walk him to death. I cannot. It is not fair.”

_ You must. I can see your heart. You would not forsake millions for the sake of one. _

“I would!” He couldn’t stop it. Tears streamed down Ignis’s face and yet he did not blink, did not stutter. “I would give everything! The world!”

Gilgamesh shook his head.  _ You would devalue the sacrifices of those fallen. Your friends.  _

“I-” Ignis let his hand fall. “You’re right. I could not. But if he must die, I must too.”

_ You must rebuild. One cannot walk the light alone. You guide him so that he may free us all. So he may free you as well. He is the light which you will never see again, but he is not the last light.  _ There was a pause as Gilgamesh slowly ran his hand over the object on which it sat, a sadness there that Ignis could not have possibly felt or seen, and yet it penetrated him deeply.  _ There are others that rely on your flame, do not smother two flames because the third burns low. Both must light the way out of the darkness.  _

Just as he had appeared the visage of Gilgamesh faded, leaving not a trace or speck of light. _ Illuminated shall be the path you walk, should you see it or not. Behind, as I stand, is the way. _

Ignis staggered forward, his head spiking with pain. “The path I walk…” his hand landed on the same stone that Gilgamesh had set his hand upon, and yet Ignis felt nothing. It was a stone like any other. Inconsequential. “The path I walk is not illuminated, but it is through…”


	6. Chapter 6

Gilgamesh had not been lying, though Ignis’ head did not stop pounding the entire time through the tunnel that led to the surface. “There it is.” Ignis sighed, actually glad to see the moon for the first time all night. He could feel the dirt sticking to his skin, and yet still he did not hear a single daemon or beast emerging from the darkness. He touched the side of the canyon wall and breathed as deeply as his battered lungs would allow. “Now I must find a way up.”

Of course he should have taken a radio. In his haste Ignis had taken little to nothing, and now he had lost his weapons and his ability to stand and walk at a normal pace. The flashlight clipped to his chest was long gone. A few buttons seemed to be missing. His hand reached to his pocket, trying to see if anything had come with him. A moment of relief came when he felt the body of a small, carved, wooden animal that had escaped its box but remained beneath the tight folds of fabric. He knew it wasn’t helpful but he removed it, anyway. He ran his fingers over the small bumps of legs and paws until he came to the head. 

“Missing.” Ignis frowned and circled the hole where the spring and head were once attached with his roughened thumb pad. “I deserved that. I have been quite the inconsiderate fool.” And yet it seemed a worse loss than those of his weapons or his flashlight… or even his buttons. 

_“Wait. I heard something.”_

Ignis tilted his head, hearing a voice in the distance as well as the click of one of the radios the hunters carried. “Down here!” Ignis had been hesitant, but unless it was a roadway scalper traveling far from his home turf they had to be friendly. In fact if he weren’t mistaken…

“Ignis!” It was. That time the rough, purring baritone was unmistakably Gladio’s. “Just… give me a second! I’ll be right there!” The sound was followed by a scraping of rocks that seemed to be growing closer, not just closer…

Ignis shifted out of the way as Gladio finished skidding down, a somewhat triumphant but small sound bouncing up from his airway. Ignis wasn’t sure if it was the fact he’d skidded down without landing on his bottom or something else, but considering the circumstance the sound seemed a touch inappropriate. “Gladio, tell me you tied a rope?”

The pause was telling, though as he recovered Ignis could still hear the gentle clearing of Gladio’s throat. “Let me make a call. Someone will be out in a while.”

“Assuming the radio works at the bottom of a canyon.” Ignis had to pull back the bite, feeling a tad self conscious after his previous experience in the dark. “It’s… alright. You’re here and that’s what matters.”

Ignis knew Gladio wasn’t an idiot. He remembered the way Ignis had left things, storming out the city gates and going off mission to slaughter daemons with reckless abandon. Ignis wasn’t going to pretend that hadn’t happened. It had only been hours. It was still fresh. “You’re not entirely wrong. I just don’t think you need to punish yourself like this. The guys have told me a lot while you’ve been in town. I ain’t the only one worried.”

“Spying, or was I really that bad?” Ignis knew the answer.

“I’m not even gonna lie to you Iggs. When the nights are dark and long like this-”

“And the moon’s the only light we see…”

There was a shuffle, Gladio’s figure turning somewhere beyond him. “I can’t even see the… wait. That song. It’s that song.”

“Yes.” Ignis chuckled, though even he could feel how hollow it was. “The one that was playing the day the Regalia broke down. Our first day beyond the borders of the Crown City. I swear it’s the only song I can remember, anymore.”

“I get it.” Gladio said, lowly, falling into silence. It had been the beginning of the events that had brought them to where they now stood, pathetic and at the bottom of a chasm. As though realizing this was the case Gladio moved to sit. Exhausted, Ignis could only follow. The rock he chose was big enough for both of them, flat and without sharp edges. It had fallen long before the dust rubble that cracked brevet their feet. 

"I think about him… every day. The last time I saw him… actually _saw_ him he couldn't even open his eyes." Ignis' head tipped down, more grateful now than ever for Gladio's silence. "I have tried to imagine it, many times, but I-I can't. The horror that must have passed through his eyes, the sorrow...and even when he returns, I'll never see the look on his face… beyond the one I see in my dreams."

But it was real, wasn't it? The vision he'd seen, the tears on Noctis' face and the ending that haunted his unconscious mind. The swords as they drew back and…

"Maybe it's a blessing that I cannot see… the Kings of Old took my sight from me because they knew that out of everyone I would be the one unable to handle it…" Ignis choked back a bitter laugh, his throat tight around the forming knot.

"Ignis… do you remember the painting in the Citadel? The big one with the prophecy on it?" Gladio's voice was low, and if he moved Ignis could not hear it.

"I do." Another dry, bitter chuckle. It was an odd switch, but Ignis couldn't blame the man. "The one that, when we were kids, we would always poke at one another and try to decide who was who… ironic."

"Yeah, well… there was a point in time where I was obsessed with the story behind the damned thing. The prophecy. It's what really spurred my love of reading now that I think of it." 

"You never told me this, actually." Ignis furrowed his brow, running gloved hands over his dirt covered thighs. 

"I was kinda ashamed of it, is why. Didn't want you guys to know how uncool I was." 

"As though I would have been anyone to talk." This time the laugh that followed held life, if only a little. 

"No. You were always cool. Just took a while for you to know it." The tone was soft and Ignis couldn't help but try to search for the underlying meaning on the tip of the Shield's tongue. "The moment you graduated from Crownsguard training." There was a pointed exhale of breath. "When you designed your Crownsguard fatigues. That's when you finally bloomed."

Ignis felt his breath catch as though the words had been laid out, right in front of him. "Speaking of flowers in this darkest night. Only a man named after one would do such. What good any amount of blooming did for me. The colors are gone and I am withered."

"Wilted." Gladio corrected, "Not withered. Withered makes it sound like there's no coming back."

A silence stretched between them. Ignis didn't need to put words to his thoughts. The silence had done it for him.

"You know the best thing about flowers? You don't need to be able to see to be able to enjoy them." The warmth and sincerity to the Shield's tone. It was something Ignis hadn't heard in a long while. 

"That's either shameless or entirely cheesy."

"Or both." Ignis imagined the bright grin that might have been there, pushing the corners of the swordsman's lips.

He shuffled in his seat, finding no comfort in the cold, irregular stones as they both clattered and poked. 

"Hey Iggy… so you know the painting we were talking about? The characters… the ones we called the wounded man and the guardian? People always get something wrong about them. They know that the wounded man is the catalyst but… he's also the messenger. Blinded by the truth…"

Ignis felt lightning run up his back and stiffen his shoulders.

"I know you saw something… that they… showed you something. Maybe in time you'll talk about it. But that's okay. It's more the… more the guardian that I always wondered about as a born and raised 'future shield', why he's guarding the wounded man instead of the King. It took me a while to figure it out, it ain't in any of the books." A shaky breath escaped Gladio's lips, a stark contrast to his earlier warmth, yet it was not entirely gone. "Because the King... he can't be saved. You're the one I'm supposed to protect."

"That's a stretch." Ignis' tone lowered, the tunnel of his remaining senses fixed on Gladio. 

"Is it? Well then it's my interpretation. It's what I have left to do. And I don't intend to stop, no matter what you do."

Unintentionally the echo of a grunt escaped Ignis' lips, a frown starting to form in its place. "Part of the prophecy. It would be nice if I could have something… one thing in my life that was not 'destiny preordained'."

"Okay, fine. So our lives are pretty linear…" Gladio shifted and their shoes bumped. It was a feeling eerily familiar, Ignis' head tilting towards it. "The gods… they can tell us what to do, put up whatever red tape they see fit… but they can't tell us how ta feel about it."

The advisor's head tipped up, though the leather to leather contact remained. "Does it even matter how we feel about it?"

Gladio scoffed. "Hell yeah it does.”

"Maybe you're right." Ignis fiddled with the small carved animal still grasped in his left hand. There had been something odd about the appearance of Gilgamesh in the cave system. It wasn't that Ignis didn't believe he was there, but that he seemed to know more than any man should know. He doubted it would be something he could decipher until he had a moment to himself again. "You can be allowed more than one light. Gladio, I apologize for my behavior. It has been unsavory to say the least."

"You don't gotta apologize to me." Ignis could hear the slow intake of breath, But part of him still missed the small nuances of expression. And Gladio had always been about small nuances, rather than words. "I've been a right asshole since you left."

"That's not why I was avoiding you." Ignis let out a sigh, lifting the little animal to the moonlight, though it still was not visible. He was a bit disappointed, to be honest. "I'm surprised, considering everything I've been hearing. Is it true the ladies like that sort of thing?"

"That's… a lie." Gladio gave a sigh and Ignis could hear his feet shift, though the one touching his bit only moved closer. "Iris started those rumors. It's ta keep people off my back, ya know. She's a good kid. Let me have my space." The small carved object was back in Ignis’ lap despite the dusty and dirt that crept under the edges of his gloves. Another small sound left Gladio's throat, though this one seemed to be restraint. Ignis tipped his head towards the big man with confusion creasing his browline. "Is that… the little guy I got for you in Altissia?"

"It is." Ignis admitted solemnly. "He survived the fall of the world and yet now he's lost his head."

Gladio reached over placing his hand over the small figure. He paused as Ignis gasped then slowly closed his hand around it. "I'll make another one for ya." Ignis could hear the smile through the nervous, breathy chuckle. "I'm not, like, a matter craftsman or anything, but I've been practicing."

Ignis felt his lips crack as they curled into a smile and the tears that he'd felt in the caves return, lazily pooling under his visor and then spilling out the side. "Thank you. I'd like that, very much."

"Ignis, are-"

"I'm fine, Gladio. More than fine. Finally realizing that light I'd been missing, that's all. Please. I'm sure your carving will be absolutely stunning." He squeezed Gladio's hand, despite the small figure between them. 

A crackle came over the radio at Gladio's side and he attempted to pull away, only for his fingers to be held in place as Ignis tightened around them. He set his free hand over top. It was large and Ignis had forgotten how well it covered his own. Their shoulders brushed and Ignis could feel the stiff weatherproof fabric of Gladio's jacket even before the tickle of his feathered hair or the rough brush of his chin. He noted that Gladio’s hair seemed longer… and perhaps his facial hair was longer, too. But the contemplation was cut short by the touch of soft lips against his own chapped and split ones, but in the moment it didn’t matter. In fact Ignis found himself lingering longer than he should.

"I guess that means you don't want me to let go."

"No." Ignis knew his voice was breathy but he couldn't really change it. "The Hand and Shield walk together into the light, and that's exactly what I plan to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by zoebittnerart on Twitter check out their other works!!


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